My Master Down the Hall Ch. 02

Hey everyone, it's me, Rose, again. So I promised last time I'd tell you more about what happened between me and my step-brother, and I finally found time in the middle of these classes to write it all down. (Note to self: you are not "too good" for blow-off classes. Blow-off classes will be your friend next semester.)

So I kind of teased you guys last time when I implied that I gave Gabe a blowjob the next morning. Unfortunately, it really didn't happen that way, even though it was totally my plan at the time. Instead, I got a serious talk from Gabe about boundaries and how we can't do this. I know what you're thinking: total drag. Only, weirdly enough, it didn't feel that way.

Brief detour: domination fantasies. I want my guy to be in control, not weak. If he gives in too easily to temptation, it loses a little bit of the spark. I'm not speaking for all the ladies out there, but for me, it's not about pain, sadism, or humiliation. So much of that just makes me think a weak guy gets his jollies from beating up girls. I get feelings of inferiority all the time; domination isn't about making me feel that way. It's about being the center of attention, need, and desire, for someone that you see as superior. If you feel small, or weak, or worthless, being dominated (but not degraded) by someone powerful, strong, and superior makes you feel whole.

That last part is the key, but it's tricky. It's weird to think of someone your age, who's like you in some ways, as just being...better. Sure people might be more popular, or hotter, or whatever. But most of us think that we're all kind of equal deep down, and I guess I do too. But when I'm with Gabe, I can't explain it, but it just feels right to kind of look up to him. It might sound pathetic, but I see Gabe as this superior man, and it makes me want to just give myself over to him completely.

My problem at the time was that I was afraid that the guy I worshiped was going to let the whole brother-sister thing get in the way of something great. I mean, I didn't have any basis of comparison, but our first time together was hot. He had to feel it too. If it was just the blowjob, then I'd get it: old news. "Dudes like getting their dick sucked—now Chet with the weather."

That wasn't the only thing, though. It was the way he looked at me when I asked his permission to play with myself. When I asked to do it "for him," I could see him experience the same rush I did, the rush of control, just from a different direction. He had stared right into my pussy as I made myself orgasm for him. He couldn’t turn away. Part of me thought he might have been imagining all the things he could do to my virgin kitty.

I thought about this kind of stuff all the time, and I realized, like a lot of girls I bet, that I don't just generically get off on being controlled. Some asshole I didn't know or like bossing me around would just make me angry. No, it had to be someone I trusted and admired as much as I did Gabe. Finding someone like that would be hard; at the time, in my naive, lovestruck brain, I thought it practically impossible. (Now I think differently, but that's a story I'll have to wait to tell you about.)

Sorry, longer detour than I thought! Anyway, I can't lie, even if I really want to right now: I started to cry. It wasn't just that I was sad or felt rejected. It was that right then, as he was telling me that we couldn't be together, everything about him screamed "I'm perfect for you."

Checklist of fantasy traits:
-Authoritative tone, telling me what to do and not asking.
-Strength and self-control, always in charge of himself as much as me.
-Love and concern for me, never taking control only for himself
-Abs (I'm only human, and he was wearing a tight shirt that morning!)

He pulled me in for a hug, and I could feel the warmth of his body, its strength. I wanted to sink to my knees right there, but I wasn't going to embarrass myself if I wasn't pretty sure it would work. After I stopped sobbing and smiled, Gabe was sure I was OK. Then it was back to "normal."

Normal for me, of course, meant constantly fantasizing about that night, and what would have happened if I had just climbed on top of Gabe and let him take my virginity. As you can probably guess, the next few days saw me pleasuring myself at least a couple of times daily imagining how that scenario would have played out.

It was a whole cycle: I would think about what I should have done and feel stupid for passing up the chance. Then I'd think about how it could have gone wrong, since I didn't know what I was doing and probably wasn't hot enough for Gabe anyway. Then when I felt at my lowest, I'd allow myself to fantasize about what it would take for him to actually do it, to have sex with me, his nerdy little step-sister. What could I do to make him want me?

You might think it’s weird that I jilled off while thinking about how lame I was, but that wasn’t unusual. What was different was that this time my fantasy scenarios really could come true. There might be things I could do that would make him want me. If it happened once, it wasn’t out of the question that Gabe would change his mind.

For those few days, Gabe didn't exactly avoid me, but he made sure we were never alone. Where once I hung out with him at his band practices, now I was left behind. Gabe was getting stuff together for his Halloween costume, and I wasn’t helping him. I assumed he go off in a few days to a huge party and meet some new slut who’s way hotter than me and not related to him. We didn’t even watch TV alone together. It was hell, and I know he could tell how depressed I felt. I wasn’t play-acting, trying to lead him on or anything. I was just bummed, like I had no energy.

Our parents noticed it too. My mom asked me if there was a boy; I told her it was complicated. In her mind, she must have taken that to mean I had some crush at school or something, maybe even a boyfriend. She told me I could always be honest with her, but I knew that this case was a huge exception. She wanted to know if I was going out on a date for Halloween, or if I’d be around to help her pass out candy. I told her that I didn’t have any plans, and she looked a little sad.

On the fourth day, Gabe finally decided things couldn't go on. I guess he thought he could take the risk of being alone with me to actually sit down and talk about this. I remember him waiting until my parents had gone to a dinner party with some of their lame friends. We went into the bonus room above our garage, which was a good hangout spot with a couple of couches, a TV, and a little card table with four chairs around it for game nights. In retrospect, I still don't really know what his intentions were; sometimes it’s hard to tell whose idea something was in the end.

I remember a lot of the things he said. He started by asking me if I felt comfortable speaking openly and honestly tonight.

"Only if you're just as honest with me," I responded, probably sounding a little bratty.

"Totally," he said. "That's the only way this conversation can work."

I was ready for him to start in with another lecture about family, boundaries, and rules. He could really surprise me, though.

"Rosie, I want you to know something right now. You're fucking beautiful. That’s not just because you’re a redhead, either."

I blushed, unaccustomed to compliments and not really believing this one. I didn’t know Gabe liked redheads either. I’d never seen him date a redhead, but, then again, there aren’t that many of us. I remember looking at my lap, afraid to my eye contact in case I started crying again. God, some times it sucks to be a girl. He continued.

"Those girls at school really pulled a number on you. You go around thinking nobody could ever like you, but it's not true. You don't need me, you could get any guy."

I think Gabe thought this was a compliment, but it actually hurt, since it felt like he was trying to pawn me off on some other guy to get rid of me. Once he saw my hurt expression, he held on to my hand, and I felt a little better.

"Gabe," I said in a soft voice, my eyes still lowered.

What can I say? Writing this stuff down after the fact is one thing, but at the time I was shy and a nervous wreck over this.

"Yeah?"

"Gabe, I know I'm not, like, Sadie level pretty or anything. I just...thought that you'd let me do things with you. What happened last night was the best thing that's ever happened to me."

When I let my eyes come up to meet his, I didn't know what to expect. I think he was trying to process what I was saying. Maybe he couldn't understand that a girl would actually want to perform oral for a guy, since a lot of girls just do it to make their boyfriends stop begging. For me, it was so much more.

"Rosie," he said, using his pet name for me again, "you don't have to do that for me to make me like you. You'll always be part of my life."

"I know, but it's...not like that. I like doing it. I liked everything we did."

Gabe's eyes widened.

"Tell me the truth, Rose. You want to suck cock?"

I was a little shocked. I suppose once it had actually already happened, saying the words shouldn’t be a big deal. For me, it felt like Gabe was letting me into a secret world, where we could talk about things like this without shame or fear.

"No," I replied. "I want to suck your cock. Nobody else's."

It was like an electric charge spread between us, first through him, causing his breathing to speed up and his chest and shoulders to heave. Watching him made the electricity jump to me, only it headed straight downstairs, and I got wet just hearing myself say those words.

This wasn’t like me. This wasn’t an impulsive leap. I was telling him how I felt, even though it was hard to do it. It was like I was borrowing some of his confidence.

"You know we can't be boyfriend and girlfriend. Mom and dad would fucking flip their shit," he said.

"Not in public," I responded. "But at home, you can do anything with me you want."

Sometimes, I'm afraid that I make Gabe sound a little dense in the story, like he can't figure things out without me telling him. Really, he was mostly just thrown for a loop. What he said next, though, showed me that he really was thinking about this stuff, and that he had been paying attention to all the signals I was sending out.

"Go over, lock the door, and bring my phone over here." he commanded. "Then take off your clothes. I want to see your body while you suck my cock."

A more experienced girl would have done all those things really slinky and sexy, I guess. I was too excited to put on any kind of show and just ran over to the door, locking it as fast as I could. He had said it just perfectly, in control, certain, and firm. I grabbed Gabe's phone from the pocket of his coat that had fallen off the back of one of the chairs. I probably should have bent over seductively to pick it up, but like I said, stupid over here. When I popped back up and turned around, Gabe had completely stripped off his pants.

God, his cock looked huge. It was standing at full attention, and I felt a swell of pride. Just thinking about me was doing that to him. He was slowly stroking it up and down. I walked over to him hypnotized and placed the phone at his side.

I had such a better view than last time. This might sound dumb, but it looked…angry. It was really red and hard, and I knew that it could do things to me that would drive me wild. I also found myself staring at Gabe’s balls, remembering how they felt against my skin.

"It's time to strip," he said firmly.

He didn't need to tell me twice. The first time I did this, I was terrified he wouldn't like my body. That was in the relative dark, in a cramped car. Now, in a brightly lit room in our house, it was little better. I was almost as scared as the first time.

I totally wish I could tell you about how I unzipped my stylish pencil skirt and slipped off my lacy thong panties, but, c'mon, you know it wasn't like that. I was wearing a gingham button up shirt with a thin white camisole underneath and a pair of American Eagle jeans—no bra, panties just plain cotton, sea-green colored.

I fumbled with the buttons on the shirt until I gave up on finishing those and just pulled the damn thing over my head. The camisole was already half-way pulled up, when Gabe pulled me in close. I could feel his cock against my stomach when he took hold of the cami and pulled it up, trapping my arms together above my head. It was all a bit clumsy, but totally hot to me. He kissed me deeply, probing inside of my mouth insistently with his tongue, and I melted in a puddle on his lap. With his left hand, he held my arms together over my head, while he began to stroke and pinch my nipples with the other hand.

Finally, he let go, and I was completely topless and now totally aroused myself. I took the jeans and panties off with one motion, so that I was now totally nude for him. I looked at him, hoping he'd express some kind of appreciation. The one thing that’s kind of cool about being a redhead I hear is that guys are weirdly into the whole "fire crotch" thing. I don’t think I’ll ever shave off all my hair down there, since the whole natural redhead thing seemed to be a turn-on for Gabe.

Gabe stood and walked towards me. He towered over me, as he slowly unbuttoned his own shirt. Unlike me, he took his time, his movements graceful and controlled. Once he too was stark naked, he placed both hands on my shoulders and guided me to my knees. He ran his fingers through my hair, then placed a couple of fingers under my chin, lifting my head so that our eyes could meet.

I was trembling all over. Gabe probably thought I was afraid.

"Do you really want to do this?" he asked me.

"Yes," I replied faintly.

"I need you to say it out loud. What you're—we're doing. So it's real."

"I'm going to suck your dick," I told him, my confidence growing.

Gabe placed his hand on the back of my head and guided his cock into my mouth. Unlike last time, I didn't have any time to slowly lick his shaft up and down and get it wet. Gabe's control of my head was light but ever present. He didn't let me forget that he could force his cock as deep into my throat as he wanted. I mean, I had already told him he could do whatever he wanted to me.

Fortunately for me, he didn't do that. Instead, once the first couple of inches of his cock were in my mouth, he held me in place and let me swirl over the head with my tongue. Here at his feet, I felt totally at home. Slowly, his dick began to move in and out, never leaving my mouth but slowly dragging across my tongue.

My mouth was filling with saliva, which made it easier for Gabe to slide his cock in and out. I thought I might look dumb, as all that spit started to slide out of the corners of my mouth and dribble down onto my chest and thighs, so I looked up at Gabe. He seemed to enjoy the sight. Now that I had made eye contact, I remembered how I couldn't pull that off last time, since it was too cramped in the truck. It was great—I could see how the things I was doing were making him feel.

It only spurred me on. I know a lot of girls use their hands on blowjobs—I did the first time, too. For some reason, though, it seemed...presumptuous, if that’s the right word. He hadn’t told me or guided me to use my hands, so I simply let him use my mouth only. After a minute or two, I just did what felt natural: I clasped both hands behind my back. With my chest jutted out like that, I guess Gabe couldn't resist, because he started playing with my breasts, tweaking my nipples and squeezing them firmly, with his free hand. I loved the fact that, no matter what, he never removed the one hand from my head. I guess I just loved the feeling of never leaving his complete control.

Gabe got this look on his face. If I didn't know him better, I would have thought it was anger. He looked possessed, fiery, intense. Then he did something really unexpected, but which set me off even more. He pulled his cock out of my mouth and held my head in place with both hands, craning my neck to look up at him. There were these, like, ropes of spit connecting his dick to my mouth. It was pretty surreal.

"Tell me what you feel right now," he barked, more passionate than before.

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to say the right things, to make him think I was cool and sexy, rather than needy and pathetic. Unfortunately, I think Gabe's cock had jarred loose the part of my brain that controlled rational thought.

"I feel small," I said, panting. "And you're so big. And I feel horny."

Gabe stroked my cheek, like I was little girl or something.

"Do you think you can take my whole cock, or do you need to give up now?"

I was scared. The last thing I wanted to do is gag on Gabe's member and then do something gross like throw up. Remember, this was lifetime blowjob #2. I wasn't Linda Lovelace here. On the other hand, I really, really wanted to try.

OK, one more detour—this is for the ladies mostly. What I've learned (you know, now that I'm a total BJ queen) is that there are three kinds of blowjobs. There are bad blowjobs, which Gabe once told me made up about 90% of all blowjobs. He also told me that bad blowjobs were like bad pizza: still pretty good, in fact better than most alternatives. Then there’s type two: the sexy-looking blowjob. It’s way better, because the girl puts in the extra effort to make it that way. This is where girls show off for guys, doing all kinds of teasing little moves. The eye contact, the sex noises, little licks and stuff. It's like half visual, and only half about the feel. They're awesome for guys still, especially compared to the shitty first type. But it’s kind of more about performance and play-acting than about the real, physical feel. Most of all, they’re blowjobs where the girl is always in total, 100% control.

The blowjob I gave Gabe was the third type, the best type I think. Gabe told me what it was like for a guy much later and the phrase has stuck with me: "treating my mouth like a cunt." It sounds dirty, blunt, and forceful, and that's exactly what it is. Very few real-life blowjobs are like this, but if you want to really hook a guy, the way I wanted Gabe, there is no replacement. Let him—hell beg him to—fuck your mouth like a cunt. Foolproof advice from your humble author.

Now I know what you're thinking, too. I'll answer all your questions when I tell you what happened that day with Gabe. Yes, I started to tear up when his cock started pressing against the back of my throat. Yes, my throat started to hurt from his huge cock trying to force its way inside, no matter how much spit built up. Yes, it takes time and effort to relax enough to let the guy’s cock slip into your throat, and it’s hard as hell to resist gagging. No, I couldn't resist, and I kind of half-threw up a huge amount of thick spit. It would have been pretty gross in any other context. I was just glad it had been a while since I ate, and only that spit stuff came out. Last question? No, Gabe didn't give a shit about how I looked, how messy it was, or even the fact that it was his sister gagging on his cock. He was roughly fucking an (almost) virgin throat, humping my face as much as he could every time I took him back inside my mouth. He was too busy fucking my face to worry about the fact that we were related.

I was getting a little light-headed when he pulled out. My head was swimming and I was both afraid of not being able to continue and desperate to get myself off.

"Please," I begged him, "can I play with my pussy for you?"

I expected him to comply, but he surprised me.

"No," he said, "keep your hands behind your back."

You might think I was crushed, but if you've gotten to know me well enough so far, you'd know how much I loved him taking charge like that. Then I had a thought: is Gabe going to touch me himself later? Holy shit! The mere thought that this was a possibility caused me to shudder involuntarily. My pussy was already dripping wet, and I thought I might cum without anything touching me at all. (Yeah, as it turns out, for me that's impossible. I need to be touched.)